


Aftermath

by lady_snow



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Carlos Ramos, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 06:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15966257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_snow/pseuds/lady_snow
Summary: A dejected Carlos Ramos in the aftermath of the women Final, returns to the arms of his lover.





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Not real. Just for good fun.

There was a warm hand on his back when he sank to the bed in the hotel room. Then warm lips against his neck, then two warm hands hugging him from the back.  
Carlos sank back, as if someone has suddenly released the cord holding his rigid stance together. “I thought you are asleep.”  
He was bone-tired exhausted and his voice came out wrong. He has held it perfectly together until now. On court, in the back rooms of Arthur Ash, with boos reining down at him, during the ‘fact-finding’ review with the USTA which was more painful than taking out his wisdom teeth.  
He reviewed the tape, again and again. Wondering, why didn’t he see it, that thing that he should have done differently.  
The older man chuckled in that deep timber of his, directly into his shoulder. “You should know better, no? Come lie down with me.”  
Carlos shook his head. Suddenly overcome with it all. He felt like a moment from weeping, and that hasn’t happened to him in a long while.  
Mo tutted softly. “Carlos. Come.”  
Carlos wasn’t about to resist anymore. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself anyway. He allowed Mohamed to pull him into bed and to cuddle him from behind. Mo tucked his head in the crook of his shoulder. His breath tickling his ear. He smelled like toothpaste and his favorite brand of soap, with a slight whiff of something uniquely Mo’s underneath.  
“You don’t need me to tell you that you did it right. You know you did it right.”  
“You would have done things differently.” He stated simply, but knowing it to be true.  
There was a moment of silence. “Possibly. Does not mean you were not right.”  
“The coaching violation?”  
“No. Not that. The idiot was coaching. Clear as day and not for the first time, either. She did not realize. Maybe, at the end. I would have told her that it is enough talking. Before the third. If only for the match not to end like that. Because of the crowd. For the girl. Astounding tennis, but what a disaster of a ceremony.”  
There was a moment of silence, then Mo sighed and resettled behind him. “Or maybe not, after this week, maybe I just give a the penalty and be done with it. I am not sure anymore. Anyway, you are not biased. You treat them all the same.”  
“Carlos Ramos. Not a racist, just an overly strict umpire.” Carlos tried a wry smile into the night, even though Mo couldn’t see his face. But that accusation hurt, that this was to be his excuse. Carlos. He’s no racist nor a women hater, just lacking in discretion and common sense, stickler for the rules, always ready to ruin a good match with a well-timed code violation. God.  
Suddenly the lump was higher in his throat, unbidden, and he panted through it. “This accusation of misogyny and racism will haunt me for the rest of my career. A career of thirty years, and what I have going for me, are youtubes of other players angry with me. Such is my defense.”  
Mo’s hand looped tighter against his heaving chest, he made small, soothing circle with his thumb.  
“You did what you believed in. I did what I believed in. We can only learn from this. Your job is not at risk here. If my wasn’t, neither would yours. There is no fault to be found in your decisions.”  
Carlos gulped. “I think it was the right thing to do. She didn’t leave me much choice. I don’t know how I could umpire again without second guessing myself after that - mess.”  
“Her. Or at all?”  
Carlos was silent, and Mohamed did not press.  
After a long moment of restlessness, Mo inquired. “Could you sleep, Älskling?”  
Carlos smiled a little at the endearment. Muhammad was careful with them, perhaps afraid of using them in public by mistake. They were not a secret, but nor was their relationship common knowledge.  
He turned around to find a pair of concerned eyes on him, and leaned his forehead against that of the Swede. “Unlikely for a while. My mind is all over the place. But I should be fine in the morning.”  
Big, warm hands were at his sides. Petting. Then curling up at the small of his back. “Let me make you sleepy.”  
Carlos considered, then moved his head slightly, to seek the man’s lips. They were kissing softly. Quite different than this morning, when the force of their love-making cost the life of a nearby vase Mo has accidentally kicked in a particular moment of ecstasy.  
Mo rolled them, to have a better angle of Carlos’s lips and started a slow, unhurried rocking motion. Carlos’ body took a while to respond, but eventually, he could feel himself growing hard. Harder still, when Mohamed took his ear lob into his mouth. A spike of want thuded and settled in his lower-stomach. He groaned softly and received an answering groan in reply as Mohamed ground against him. His hands searched for purchase and landed on Mo’s ass, he yanked him closer, rocking against his answering hardness.  
“Mo.” He groaned. “Aha. Mo. That feels good. So good.”  
“Hmmm” Mo sighed into his neck, then swore in Swedish as Carlos’ hands kneaded his ass hard.  
Slowly, slowly, his orgasm was building. The rate slower than usual, but then Mo reached down and started jerking the two of them together.  
And it was inelegant and messy and so sharply sweet, that he lost his control before even knowing it was happening, and suddenly he was shuddering and thrusting up frantically, mumbling his lover’s name like a mantra as his cock sputtered hot and wet into Mo’s large, warm hand, as his teeth closed gently on a pouty lower-lip.  
Mo gentled him through each and every aftershock, and he was going to recuperate, he was. But his limbs somehow did not cooperate, like jelly they were. And a whole-bout of nothing came over him.  
He came to maybe moments afterwards, to see his lover on his side, his eyes closed, pulling on himself, his eyes closed in concentration, groaning with each stroke, selflessly not disturbing him.  
With his consciousness still blurred, Carlos enveloped Mo's bigger frame, guided his hands to the man’s heavy balls and cupped. The effect was immediate. Mo threw his head back, his back arched, and he came with a shout.  
He They fell asleep wrapped in one another without bothering to get cleaned up. They could do that in the morning. The tournament was over. There was no rush. Maybe in the off-season they could go skiing together. Maybe find somewhere sunny, where there are no tennis balls. No social media. And no tennis players.  
It could not happen soon enough.


End file.
